


Prince Brat

by pepperlandgirl4



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 19:00:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8256875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperlandgirl4/pseuds/pepperlandgirl4
Summary: Some sort of evil spell makes Arthur revert back to 6 years old. Merlin has to deal with the little terror. 24 hours has never felt so long.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is totally a kid!fic. There's some fluff and some angst and some bandits. Once I had the image of a little Arthur terrorizing Merlin, I knew I needed to just go for it.

The castle was positively abuzz with talk of _magic_. Not that anybody was stupid enough to utter that word within one hundred yards of Uther, but the servants found other ways to talk about it. Merlin, being particularly sensitive to any discussion involving Uther and sorcery, spent the morning working for Gaius and ignoring it. If he was the cause of the rumors, then he would know soon enough when Arthur showed up with his knights to drag him down to the dungeon. If he wasn’t the cause of the rumors, then some other poor person would be executed soon, and Merlin did not want any part of that. 

Amelia, one of the servants who worked under Gwen, hurried into Gaius’s room after breakfast and the words she immediately uttered put the morning’s rumors into a much worse light. “There’s something wrong with Prince Arthur.” 

Merlin really didn’t need to hear anything else. He abandoned the flowers he was carefully arranging to dry and fled the room before Gaius could even ask about what ailed the prince. He should have been with Arthur. As soon as the servants started whispering about strange goings on, he should have rushed up to Arthur’s room instead of hiding like a coward. Arthur would probably throw him in the stocks for being so inattentive, and Merlin would happily accept the punishment if Arthur was capable of handing it down. As he always more-or-less happily accepted anything Arthur wanted to do to him. 

He took the stairs up to Arthur’s chambers two at a time and didn’t even stop to think before he threw the door open, forgetting that if there were something wrong with Arthur, the king would no doubt be present in his chambers. Also forgetting that Arthur really preferred Merlin to knock instead of just barging in like he owned the place. He was too worried for little considerations like that. Who had time to knock when Arthur’s life might be on the line? 

Uther looked up sharply as soon as Merlin burst into the room, and he skidded to a halt on the smooth stone floor. Uther was glaring at him with sharp green eyes that pierced right through to his soul and no doubt saw every secret he ever tried to keep—so that was normal then. What was most emphatically _not_ normal or expected was the small child perched on Uther’s knee, blue eyes wide, blond hair tousled into a dozen pointed spikes, and mouth set in a firm pout that probably meant tears were imminent. And not just any tears. Merlin didn’t know a lot about kids, but he could read this one like an open book, and he knew the child was fixing to throw a tantrum that would bring down the fury of the gods themselves. 

“My lord?” Merlin asked, his brain refusing to draw the correct conclusion. 

“Shut the door,” Uther said tightly. 

Merlin did. The child ( _not Arthur not Arthur please don’t be Arthur_ ) was looking at Merlin with deep distrust, temporarily distracted from his anger. Merlin had the feeling he was going to be blamed for this. 

“What happened, your majesty?” Merlin pitched the question as respectfully as he could, pushing the fear so far down he could feel it souring in his stomach. 

“Camelot is under attack by _sorcery_.” 

That didn’t answer Merlin’s question. First, because _obviously_ sorcery was involved. Second, because Camelot was always under attack. Uther had done well to encourage and foster as many enemies as he could. Merlin decided it was more important not to attract the king’s wrath, so he shrank back and kept his mouth shut until Uther forgot he was even in the room. Merlin had never been so grateful for Uther’s complete lack of awareness or concern when it came to Merlin. He busied himself with a pile of clothes that needed to be sorted through and tossed in the corner, sneaking glances at the child who was very probably Arthur still perched on Uther’s leg. 

“Sire.” It was Gaius’s turn to burst into the room. “I came as soon as quickly as I could.” He shot daggers at Merlin with that, who had the grace to shrink a little under the force of Gaius’ wrath. “What…is that Arthur?” 

The child jumped off Uther’s knee, stuck his chest out, and said in the iciest tone possible, “That’s _Prince_ Arthur.” 

“Of course, my liege,” Gaius answered without skipping a beat, bending low at the waist. “My deepest apologies.” 

“Who is that idiot?” Arthur asked, gesturing at Merlin. 

“That’s my apprentice, Merlin. He’s also your manservant, sire.” 

Merlin had been considering tackling Gaius to the floor to stop _that_ piece of information from reaching Arthur. When he saw Arthur’s face light up like Gaius had just given a particularly favorite treat, he really wish he had found a way to shut Gaius’ stupid mouth.

“Come here, servant.” 

Merlin’s mouth fell open. A part of him wanted to laugh because Arthur was pretty damned cute and he was only cuter when he took that tone. Another part of him was quite offended because Arthur _never_ spoke to him that way. He wasn’t surprised though. Hadn’t he always suspected that Arthur must have been unmitigated terror? Merlin had always just been grateful he waited until he was twenty before venturing to Camelot. 

Gaius nudged him forward, leaning over to say softly, “Keep him occupied while we sort out what happened here.” 

“Don’t you think _I_ should be helping with that?” Merlin asked fiercely. “After all, it’s my job to help him.” 

“You can help him by keeping him entertained.” 

Merlin summoned his most pathetic look and turned it on Gaius with all the force of the sun bursting through storm clouds. _Please don’t do this to me. Please._

Gaius’s eyebrow crawled up into his hairline, and Merlin realized he would receive no quarter here. 

“Servant! I said come here.” 

Merlin risked a glance at Uther, who, despite the horror of the situation, was smiling indulgently at the little monster, like he had never in his whole life seen anything more precious. That’s when Merlin realized he was well and truly fucked. He shuffled forward with heavy feet, prolonging the inevitable by no more than a few seconds. He towered over Arthur’s smaller frame, but the boy craned his neck back and looked up at him without a hint of fear. Something in the set of his jaw told Merlin that Arthur could still kick his ass if he had a mind to it. Or at least, Arthur believed he could kick Merlin’s ass. 

“You’re too tall. On your knees.” 

“Gaius.” Uther gestured at the door, and his physician easily fell into step behind him, leaving Merlin alone with his worst nightmare. 

“I said _on your knees_. Servants who require a second command are flogged, you know.” 

Merlin had the feeling Arthur knew this due to the number of servants he had personally sent to the whip master. He lowered himself to the floor so he was closer to eye level with the little prince, who was smirking. The smirk was just obnoxious when he was an adult, but as a child, it managed to be obnoxious and endearing at the same time. 

“What happened to Lawrence?” Arthur demanded. 

“I don’t know.” 

Arthur slapped him across the face with a tiny hand. Merlin was torn between laughter (because he really was terribly cute) and hitting the brat back (because he really deserved it even if it was a crime punishable by death). “Servants are not allowed to speak that way to me. Even ones with mental afflictions.” 

“Sorry, sire.” 

“Good. Now, dress me for practice. I wish to see my knights.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sire.” 

Arthur’s blue eyes narrowed to slits. “I don’t believe I asked for your opinion, idiot. I certainly don’t welcome it. Now, are you going to make me repeat myself again?” 

It would be easy to strangle him. He would struggle, of course. He’d probably even land a few bruising blows, but Merlin would be triumphant in the end. He’d even come up with a good cover story for Uther. If he did this right, he could survive the day with one less brat and his head still attached to his neck. 

“No sire. But there are assassins in Camelot and it isn’t safe to let you leave your room right now.” 

Merlin had fully intended to scare Arthur into submission. He didn’t expect Arthur to square his little shoulders (though he should have) and begin walking to the door. Merlin scrambled to his feet, hurrying to intercept the prince before he could march right out into the courtyard and demand to know just who had the audacity to want him dead. 

“The king wants you to remain in your quarters until the threat has been eliminated.” 

“I will hear that from the king himself.” 

“Sire, please, if you would just…” 

The door opened suddenly, revealing the man in question with Gaius hovering just behind his shoulder. “Where are you going?” 

“The idiot servant told me there are assassins in Camelot. I’m going to find them.” 

“And what, pray tell, are you going to do once you discover them?” Uther asked with so much fondness and amusement that Merlin was almost forced to see him as a human being. 

“I’ll kill them.” 

“You’re much too small for that.” 

“I’ve been training with a sword since I was three. I’m not scared of them.” 

“And you are only six. The assassins no doubt have more than three years of experience. You’re to remain in your chambers for the rest of the day and I’ll not hear another word about it.” 

Arthur stared at Uther, a battle waging behind his angry blue eyes. Merlin watched the entire exchange with his breath caught in his throat. Arthur was so brave and so _small_. Finally, the war ended, and Arthur had no choice but to stomp his foot and huff back to his bed, his little body trembling from the force of his emotions. 

“Keep him here. Don’t let him leave. Tie him down if you have to.” 

Merlin nodded, murmured “Yes, sire” and wondered how many times Arthur’s servants had to resort to that sort of behavior. Uther had offered the suggestion like it was a perfectly viable solution to the problem that was Arthur. 

Gaius took his arm and pulled him aside. “I’m going to have to consult the books to be sure, but this is probably a temporary spell.” 

“How temporary?” 

“An enchantment like this usually wears off after twenty-four hours. The magic it would take to revert somebody back to this age permanently is far more powerful than anybody alive could maintain. In fact, you would feel it, I’m sure. Do you feel anything?” 

Merlin rubbed his cheek, which still stung a little. “No. I don’t feel any magic.” 

Gaius gave him an encouraging clap on the shoulder and a too-wide smile. He was clearly enjoying this. Possibly because he had suffered through twenty years of it, and Merlin had really only been forced to endure a tiny, tiny measure of the terror Arthur was capable of inflicting. “Then all you need do is keep him in here until the enchantment wears off.” 

Merlin glanced over to Arthur sulking on the bed and Uther trying to look stern (and failing _miserably_. If he weren’t the king, he would probably be smashing Arthur to his chest and kissing his apple-colored cheeks). “How am I going to do that?” 

“I don’t know. I’m just glad it’s not my job to figure it out.” 

“ _Gaius_.” 

“Have fun with him, Merlin.” Gaius couldn’t even say that with a straight face. By the time he left the room, his shoulders were shaking with barely muffled chortles. 

“Merlin, come here.” 

Merlin jumped at the command, overriding his body’s basic instincts to run the other direction. “Yes, sire.” 

“I trust Gaius has made you aware of the situation?” 

Merlin nodded. 

“Then you know what you have to do.” 

“Yes, sire.” 

“Then I’ll leave you to it. There will be guards posted outside the door. I hope their services will not be necessary.” 

“Of course, sire.” 

Arthur folded his arms, his glare only deepening as he watched his father leave. “I’m bored.” 

Merlin’s eyes widened. He’d heard those words in that tone before. Nothing could fill his heart with more dread. “Do you know any games, sire?” 

“I don’t play games,” Arthur said, each word dripping with so much disdain that he didn’t need to add the _idiot_. 

“What do you do, sire?” 

“I learn how to fight with the knights. Since I can’t see them today, I suppose you’ll have to do. I planned to concentrate on my sword work today.” 

“You want to fight with swords?” 

“Fight? Swords?” Arthur’s face screwed up in snide amusement. “Who said anything about giving _you_ a sword?” 

Arthur jumped off the bed and hurried over to his armor. He picked it up, frowning as he realized he could barely lift it. “This is not my armor. Where is _mine_?” 

“Down at the armory,” Merlin said quickly. “I didn’t have the time to fetch it this morning.” 

Arthur released a long-suffering sigh that was so ridiculous Merlin’s heart twisted a little. “Then go fetch it _now_.” 

“The king ordered me not to leave you, sire. But…it’s not really necessary is it?” Merlin asked quickly as Arthur’s face began to collapse with rage. “That is, you’re not giving me a sword, so you won’t need armor.” 

“Fine. Where’s my sword?” 

Before Merlin could answer, Arthur wrapped his chubby little fingers (his cheeks were quite chubby, too) around the hilt of his sword and tried to lift it off the table. When Merlin realized that the sword was heavy enough to send the little prince toppling to the ground, he darted forward and took it from Arthur’s hand. Saving and enraging the child in one single well-intentioned gesture. 

“I will see you hung for that,” Arthur said, trying to sound like Uther and mostly failing in the most adorable way. Even so, Merlin felt a lick of fear. He had _seen_ Uther’s face. If Arthur ordered Merlin’s death, would he intercede on his behalf? Or would he just indulge Arthur his every wish because he couldn’t resist his only child? 

“It was dangerous. You were going to be hurt.” 

Merlin had a knack for finding the precisely wrong thing to say at any given time. He realized his mistake about a half second before Arthur lowered his shoulder and charged, screaming as he rammed his full weight into Merlin’s legs. Merlin didn’t have a chance to brace himself, and he fell hard to the ground, his head slamming against the stone hard enough to make him see stars. He was still trying to figure out what happened when Arthur jumped on his chest and punched him in the face. 

“Ow! You little monster!” Merlin wasn’t terribly strong, but he was strong enough to toss aside a deranged little prince. He’d never been beaten up by a six year old, and he had no intention of letting that fact change. Arthur’s back hit the wall, and his face turned an interesting shade of purple. 

“You can’t do _that_!” Arthur screamed. 

God, he was such a brat. Wringing his neck still sounded like a pretty damned good plan. Somebody did need to teach the little monster a lesson. “Oh really? Because it looks like I just did.” 

Arthur’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “How dare you. You’ll pay for this.” 

Merlin beckoned him with his fingers. “Fine then. Come do something about it.” 

“You have no idea what you’re saying.” 

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I do.” 

“Have you taken leave of what little senses you have, idiot? Do you know who I am?” 

“I know you’re a little brat.” 

Arthur made a sound like he was choking, and then he picked himself up and launched at Merlin like Merlin hadn’t just knocked him into a wall. He was a flurry of tiny limbs, too-long hair, and spit-speckled rage. He slammed into Merlin’s legs and knocked him to the floor again, but this time Merlin was prepared for him, and instead of bashing his head, he tucked and braced himself. As soon as they hit the ground, he was fighting Arthur away. They rolled across the floor in a truly graceless display, Merlin trying to pull his punches and finding ways to defend himself that wouldn’t mark Arthur’s body. Arthur, of course, had no such consideration and his little fists _hurt_. 

They rolled into the wall and the door and the table. Things crashed around them, and Merlin just hoped that when the guards burst in, they didn’t think Merlin was trying to kill their prince. Finally, he could feel the tension and anger leave Arthur’s body, and hoped that was a sign that he had finally worn himself out. Of course, the fight lasted for another ten minutes past that, but there was less force behind his blows, and Merlin finally managed to get him pinned to the floor. 

“Yield,” Merlin demanded with all the stern authority he could manage. Arthur was breathing hard and his eyes were bright with hatred. Arthur had never looked at him like that. Not even when he was chasing Merlin around the streets and brandishing a mace. 

“Fine. I yield.” 

Merlin studied his face. “You sure?” 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Arthur said, trying to push him away. 

Satisfied that the bloodshed had temporarily reached an end, he jumped to his feet and put a hand down to help Arthur up. Arthur batted his palm away and resolutely got his legs under him. Merlin had half-hoped that making Arthur yield would somehow change the boy’s attitude. Maybe he would be forced to consider Merlin with a new respect, but if anything, he seemed to hate Merlin more. 

“I should have you killed for that.” 

“You should, but you won’t.” 

“Why are you so sure?” 

“Because I’m the first person who hasn’t let you win.” And it was nice to know his mouth could continue its campaign to get him executed, despite these fantastical circumstances. But the words did serve a purpose—they distracted Arthur. 

“You think they let me win? The knights?” 

“Do I think grown men let a child beat them? Yeah, I’d say it’s a possibility.” For a minute, Merlin forgot he was talking to Arthur and thought he was talking to _Arthur_ , who was mostly mature enough to mostly handle such slights against his pride. The miniature version of Arthur, however, was still only six. And when he pouted, it was about a hundred times more effective than the adult version of the same look. 

“They assured me I only won on my own merits.” 

“Well, you’re a very good fighter, sire.” 

“Shut up. I won’t have servants patronizing me.” 

“No, I mean it. Look.” Merlin lifted his shirt and allowed Arthur to get a good look at the tiny bruises already forming on his chest and his ribs. “In a few years, you’ll be big enough to beat anybody.” 

Arthur frowned and took a stuttering step forward. Merlin watched him, not moving or speaking, just waiting to see what he would do. Arthur took another step forward and another until he was close enough to reach up and touch one particularly purple bruise on his stomach. His touch was gentle, almost reverent. 

“You fought well,” Arthur offered. “For a servant.” 

“Thank you. I’ve had a good teacher.” 

Arthur dropped his hand and looked up through the long fringe of his lashes. “I’m still bored.” 

Merlin sighed and let his shirt fall. “Yeah, I thought you might be. Give me a second to think of something.” 

Arthur’s lips twitched into a smile. “A second? I only just met you and I know it’ll take you much longer than that.” 

“You’re such a little charmer.” 

“I’m the prince,” Arthur said indifferently. “I don’t have to be charming.” 

Merlin, much to his chagrin, couldn’t argue with that conclusion. 

#

It took two spells, one of Arthur’s big coats, and a great deal of ingenuity to sneak Arthur out of his room, past the guards, down the stairs, across the courtyard, and into Gaius’ home. The upshot was that Arthur was forced to stay silent. The downside was that Merlin was forced to bundle him in the coat and carry him like a baby all the way down to the physician’s quarters, and Arthur was big for his age. By the time he kicked Gaius’ door open, he was winded and quite certain he was going to collapse. He managed to set Arthur down without dropping him, and when he took the hood off his head, he saw that the little brat was smiling up at him like he knew exactly how Merlin suffered and he _loved_ it. 

“What are you doing here? Is there something wrong with the prince?” Gaius demanded. 

“Nothing more than usual.” 

“Then why are you here?” 

“He’s bored.” 

Gaius gaped at him. “And so you brought him to me? I don’t have the time to entertain a child, Merlin. I believe that is your responsibility.” 

“I’m not a child,” Arthur protested. “And it’s everybody’s responsibility to entertain me.” 

“Gaius, I need your help. I can’t keep him locked in his room until tomorrow morning. He’s going to kill both of us.” 

“What’s wrong with your face?” 

“What isn’t wrong with his face?” Arthur retorted. 

“He beat me up.” 

Now Gaius was clearly trying not to laugh. “He beat you up?” He didn’t dare say _he’s just a child, Merlin_ but he didn’t have to. 

“He’s been training to kill since birth. And he was bored. You’re lucky he didn’t kill me.” 

Arthur actually swelled with pride at that, as if to say _Yes, Gaius, you are quite fortunate I didn’t kill your idiot apprentice._

“I’m sure you’re more than capable of taking care of him yourself.” 

“Sure, if we could go to the practice field or the stables or something. Just, please, help me out here. I’ll take anything I can get. If Uther sees us, he’ll kill me. And if anybody else sees Arthur…” 

The older man’s face softened, and Merlin could pinpoint the precise second his stony heart began to crack. “What about taking him to see his dogs? Prince Arthur always quite enjoys spending time with them.” 

At the mention of the dogs, Arthur’s face lit up. It was the first time Merlin had seen Arthur smiling—really smiling—all morning. There weren’t many servants where the dogs were kenneled. Merlin could probably dispatch them easily and let Arthur play with the dogs for the rest of the morning. It wasn’t anything like a long-term solution, but Merlin was just trying to survive until lunch. 

“I want to see my dogs,” Arthur announced, effectively taking the decision out of Merlin’s hands. 

“Very well. Put your coat back on.” 

“You don’t need to carry me. It’s not far.” 

“But we can’t risk that precious neck of yours, can we?” Merlin asked sweetly. 

Arthur grumbled irritably, but he did as he was told (would wonders never cease?). Of course, when Merlin stooped to pick him up, Arthur didn’t help at all. It was like lifting seventy pounds of dead weight—so it felt closer to one-hundred-and-fifty pounds. Gaius ducked his head, discretely laughing into his sleeve and Merlin decided he was going to pay for this. They would _both_ pay. He was already considering his revenge on Arthur. It was going to be magnificent. Possibly the best plan for revenge anybody anywhere had ever thought of. 

There were only two servants with the hounds. By the time Merlin got there, he wasn’t in the mood to be nice. His back hurt, his arms hurt, his legs hurt, and he was pretty sure he could feel Arthur silently laughing. This should have been more embarrassing for him—for somebody who kept insisting he wasn’t a child, he sure didn’t seem to mind being carried like one. 

“Prince Arthur wants you to muck out his horses,” Merlin announced before they could ask him just who he was holding and before Arthur could issue his own order. “Now.” 

Most of the time, when Merlin was sent with specific orders from Arthur the other servants basically ignored him. Or at least, they required a good deal of wheedling and cajoling, which wasn’t very becoming behavior. This time, though, they must have sensed that Merlin really, really wasn’t in the mood for that shit, and they ducked their heads and scurried away as soon as he finished speaking. 

This time he unceremoniously dumped Arthur to the ground, grinning in amusement when he landed on his ass. He pushed his hood back and glared so hard that Merlin was happy they hadn’t been able to find a sword his size. 

“You’ll be flogged for that.” 

“I’m going to be flogged for a lot of things, sire. Maybe you should lay off the pastries.” 

Arthur stood, shrugged off the coat, pointedly brushed the dust from his pants, straightened his shirt, and then stuck his tongue out at Merlin. Merlin blinked at the childish display and wasn’t fast enough to grab Arthur’s arm before he took off at a run towards the dogs. Each of the six hounds lifted their heads as the young prince approached, their ears perking and tails going up. 

That was when Merlin realized how stupid, stupid, stupid this idea was. 

“Arthur! Wait!” 

Arthur didn’t even acknowledge him. Merlin set off in a run after him, confident that his longer legs would make up for the fact that Arthur had a head start. The dogs were running to meet Arthur, ears flapping in the breeze, barking and carrying on. How would he explain Arthur getting mauled by a pack of dogs to Uther? Just the thought of it drove a blade of fear through his heart. Arthur was going to get him killed one way or the other. He should have never got caught up in this. It would have been better to defy the king and take his chances in the dungeons. 

The dungeons! Oh, if only he’d been thinking, he would have taken Arthur there instead of to Gaius’. 

The dogs, however, did not fall on Arthur like he was a stag they’d been chasing through the forest. They did surge forward, and they did push him to the ground, but they also seemed intent on licking him to death. Arthur laughed and rolled around the grass, trying to escape their enthusiastic love. As soon as he pushed one away, another stepped forward to take its place, licking and yipping and rolling around with Arthur. It was a good five minutes before he was able to break away and push himself to his feet. As soon as he did, they pounced again. This time, he started running. The hounds happily gave chase. 

Merlin sank to the grass, relief mingled with exhaustion. This was a great plan. An excellent plan. Maybe even the best Gaius ever had. Maybe Arthur’s servants and nurses did this regularly—brought him to the dogs so he could run off some of that excess energy. Not all of it. Even Merlin wasn’t that optimistic. But enough so that maybe lunch would be a peaceful affair instead of another fight. 

Merlin pulled his legs up and rested his chin on his knee, his attention never leaving the golden-haired child. He ran up and down the large expanse of grass, whooping and hollering as the dogs barked in agreement. He played fetch, tirelessly throwing stick after stick and laughing when the hounds brought each one back. He played tug-of-war with an old rope, baring his teeth and growling back as each dog took a turn biting into their end of the rope. Merlin had never seen Arthur look so happy. 

Just how far from his actual childhood was this experience? Merlin could believe he’d been allowed to play with the dogs, but Arthur had fully expected to train that morning. Merlin would simply ask the prince how common this sort of thing was, but Arthur would probably tell him to shut his impertinent mouth and then refuse to answer on principle. The fact that this was completely true didn’t make Merlin’s smile fade. How could he do anything but grin like a fool when Arthur was so…exuberant? 

Merlin lost track of time, though he never lost track of what Arthur was doing and where. An hour, or maybe more, had passed before Arthur dragged his feet back to Merlin and collapsed to the grass at his side, breathing hard. The hounds were already stretched out in the sun, content and half-asleep as flies droned above their heads. 

“Have fun?” Merlin asked. 

“I wasn’t playing,” Arthur said haughtily. 

“Could have fooled me.” 

“I expect anybody could fool you, Merlin.” 

“Probably, sire,” Merlin agreed amiably. “If you weren’t playing, what were you doing?” 

“Practicing. These are hunting dogs, Merlin. One doesn’t _play_ with hunting dogs. One trains them.” 

“Ah.” 

“But I guess a servant wouldn’t really know that.” 

“No, I guess not, sire.” 

Arthur growled with what sounded like frustration. “Why are you doing that?” 

“Doing what, sire?” 

“Agreeing with everything I say.” 

“I thought that’s what you wanted, sire.” 

“No, that’s not what I want. I want…” 

Merlin blinked at him innocently. “Yes, sire?” 

“I want you to shut up.” 

Merlin unfolded his arms and legs and stood. He spread Arthur’s coat out and gestured on it. “In case you would like to take a rest after your grueling training session.” 

Arthur looked murderous. Which wasn’t really that scary. In fact, Merlin had to duck his head to hide his smile. “I don’t need a nap.” 

“I never said you did. I just thought you might like to rest.” 

Arthur crawled over to the coat and collapsed without further argument. Merlin hoped Arthur was wrong about not needing a nap. He couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to see the little bundle of raw energy fall into a deep sleep. How peaceful that would be. How joyful. Like all of Merlin’s hopes and dreams coming true on the same day. 

Arthur didn’t sleep. 

“I’m hungry.” 

“Then we have to go back up to your room.” 

“I want to eat here.” _Idiot._

“I understand that, sire. But I can’t leave you here while I run to the kitchen. So if you want to eat, we have to go back inside together.” 

“I can take care of myself,” he ground out. 

“Yes, well, the king disagrees and he’s the one who told me I’m not to leave you, sire.” 

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. “Sometimes you’re not a very good servant.” 

“Sometimes you’re not a very good prince,” Merlin said absently.

He realized his mistake as soon as he finished speaking. Everything moved in slow motion, and Merlin could only watch helplessly as Arthur’s face crumbled. It started with his mouth, which was pulled into a long frown, lower lip jutted forward and _quivering_. Then his eyes began to shine, perfect tear drops pooling in the corners before falling down his full cheeks. Merlin watched with mounting horror. He had just made Arthur _cry_ and it wasn’t funny at all. Not even a little tiny bit. In fact, Merlin was pretty sure he just felt his heart shatter. 

“Arthur. Don’t…don’t cry. Sire, please. I didn’t mean it.” 

“You did. You hate me.” 

Like an arrow to his chest. “No, no, sire. Arthur, of course I don’t hate you.” 

“You think I’m a good prince?” 

“Yes.” 

“The best prince?” Arthur asked, his voice lifting hopefully. 

“Yes, I think you’re the best prince.” 

And in an instant the tears were gone and Arthur was shining brightly. “And don’t you forget it.” 

Merlin gaped. He had just been grossly emotionally manipulated by a child. A child hardly older than a toddler. “Did you just…pretend to cry?”

Arthur’s smile widened. “Like I would need the reassurance of a servant.” 

A sharp response immediately formed on Merlin’s tongue but he bit it back with great effort. Arthur was a child. A horrible, rotten child, but a child all the same. Merlin needed to be the adult in the situation, and that meant not purposefully prodding at Arthur’s pride until he snapped. It would be better to just store it away and then use it against Arthur at a later date. 

“Come on. We’re going inside now,” Merlin said. 

“No, I want to stay out here.” 

“It’ll be lunch time soon and you just said you were hungry.” 

“I want to stay here,” Arthur repeated, enunciating each word carefully. 

“I don’t care,” Merlin responded just as deliberately. “We are going back up to your room.” 

“You do not order me anywhere.” 

“And you are not going to stay down here for another minute,” Merlin responded, digging in his heels. He could be just as stubborn as Prince Brat, and he was not going to give in now. 

Arthur jumped to his feet. “Make me.” 

Merlin bent, swooped up the coat (he had to tug it from beneath Arthur’s feet which unfortunately did not lead to Arthur falling on his ass), and moved to throw it over Arthur’s head. But Arthur was pretty quick on his feet and his reflexes were already sharp. They’d probably never been faster than in that moment. He shouted in Merlin’s ear and brought his boot down on Merlin’s foot. Pain shot up his leg, distracting his attention from Arthur’s fist which ended up in his stomach. _How is somebody so little so strong?_

It was a question Merlin would have to worry about at a later date, because while he was flailing inside the coat that had been meant for Arthur’s head, Arthur sprinted towards the door on the far side of the yard. By the time Merlin recovered himself, Arthur was already on the other side. 

“Oh, that little _shit_.” Merlin tossed the coat aside and took off in a sprint, shouting Arthur’s name. 

Arthur, it turned out, could move really fast when he had a reason to. Because Arthur, it turned out, was a natural-born athlete, and while he worked very hard on a daily basis to keep himself in top physical condition, a lot of what he could do was just natural talent. Somebody or something had blessed him. Merlin, it turned out, was not naturally physically talented, and while he could easily keep up with Arthur’s shorter legs, he could not stop himself from tripping over every bloody root and leaf and rock and his own feet. 

“Arthur!” Merlin doubled over and gasped for breath, sweat pouring down his neck, the rough linen stuck to his skin. He’d lost the prince. Uther was going to kill him. Uther was going to torture him horribly and then kill him. Uther was going to do that, then temporarily lift the ban on magic so he could find a necromancer who would raise him from the dead so Uther could have the joy of torturing and killing him again. Why did Arthur have to be such a brat? He missed regular not-such-a-prat Arthur. He missed him so much it hurt. Any time regular Arthur got under his skin, Merlin would remember this moment and be thankful it was over. 

Well, as long as he actually found Arthur and Uther didn’t have him killed. 

Something rustled behind him and he spun around, holding his breath. He remained perfectly still, trying desperately to hear anything above the sound of his own racing heart. 

“Arthur? Look, you were right. I’m sorry. We don’t have to go up to your room, of course. We can do whatever you want to do. Just come out now, please.” 

The bush to his right rustled again, and Merlin took a hopeful step forward. He didn’t notice the person sneaking up behind him until said person bashed his head with a rock.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Title** : Prince Brat  
 **Rating** : PG, (Merlin/Arthur gen, pre-slash eventually (maybe a slashy epilogue later).   
**Summary** : Some sort of evil spell makes Arthur revert back to 6 years old. Merlin has to deal with the little terror. 24 hours has never felt so long.   
**Notes** : This is totally a kid!fic and I was never going to write one of those. There's some fluff and some angst and some bandits. Once I had the image of a little Arthur terrorizing Merlin, I knew I needed to just go for it. 

 

“Arthur?” 

Arthur crouched behind a tree and covered his mouth to muffle his snicker. 

“Look, you were right. I’m sorry.” 

_Good start at least._ Though Arthur wouldn’t be happy until Merlin was kneeling in front of him respectfully, without being ordered to it. Arthur didn’t think that was too much to ask for. Every other servant in the castle and subject in Camelot managed it, and had since his birth. Why should Merlin be the lone exception? People were supposed to bow to him, it was the natural order of things. 

“We don’t have to go up to your room, of course. We can do whatever you want to do.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes. Those two things were always true. The only person in the castle who could compel him to do anything was his father, and Uther barely cared when Arthur bullied the servants. He’d learned that almost as soon as he could walk. But it was good that Merlin was apparently learning his lesson. 

“Just come out now, please.” 

The plea at the end was nice, but Arthur couldn’t be seen responding to a servant’s request. He would come out on his own time and Merlin would just have to get used to waiting. Besides, this was much more fun than sitting quietly in his room. Merlin probably even agreed with him. Who wouldn’t want to be running out in the forest? Who wouldn’t want to enjoy the sun and the shadows and the smell of the trees? Arthur couldn’t think of anything more enjoyable. 

He waited a few moments to hear the rest of Merlin’s sad plea (surely he had better material than what he used), but when no more words were forthcoming, he had to look. He moved quietly around the tree, gazing through the underbrush at what was Merlin’s last known location. All he saw was a pair of boots disappearing on the far side of the clearing. Merlin’s boots. Somebody was dragging Merlin away. 

Fear clenched his chest and Arthur forgot how to breathe. No matter how hard he struggled to suck in air, his lungs refused to cooperate. He ducked down behind the tree again, gasping uselessly, clawing at his throat. This happened to him sometimes. Gaius had never been able to tell him why, though he seemed to think Arthur would outgrow it. Sometimes, he couldn’t breathe after running laps and the knights always laughed at him as the world went woozy around him. But Arthur had found ways to cope and now all that practice caught up with him. He relaxed as much as he could, concentrating on making his body boneless rather than forcing his lungs to work. Before too long, the tight bands around his chest began to ease and he caught a mouthful of air. 

Somebody took Merlin, Arthur thought once he could think again. Somebody took his servant. But who? And why? What would anybody want with Merlin? He was a terrible, disrespectful servant—though he could be pretty funny. And he had a nice smile. Nobody had ever smiled at Arthur the way Merlin did. He also fell for Arthur’s tears faster than anybody else ever had, which wasn’t a bad thing. The point was that Merlin was his now for whatever insane reason and Arthur didn’t like people touching his things. 

Sir Owain had been teaching Arthur to track for the past two years, and like most things, Arthur had taken to it quickly. He was quite good, and Merlin would leave quite a big track. He hurried across the clearing, ducking as he ran and hid himself behind a tree. They were already out of sight, but Arthur was right about leaving a pretty big trail. He moved, walking slowly and carefully, naturally avoiding anything that could trip him or snap under his weight. He darted through the forest as light as any fawn, moving closer and closer to the dastardly bandits who stole his friend. 

#

“Arthur,” Merlin muttered as the world swam back to focus. He blinked rapidly, hoping with all his heart that when things finally cleared, Arthur would be standing there with a satisfied smirk. _I brained you to prove who the superior is. Do you yield?_ Only, Arthur wasn’t there. Just two strange faces staring at him intently. He sensed, but couldn’t see, a third. There was a sorcerer nearby. Probably the same one who had enscolled Arthur. 

“I think he’s waking up,” a deep voice said. 

“He said something.” 

“Yeah. Did you catch it?” 

“No, not quite.” 

“He said that brat’s name,” a third voice rasped. “I told you he was somewhere around here.” 

That roused Merlin completely. “Who are you?” 

“Oh, so you are awake. And I’ll be asking the questions.” 

“Fine. What do you want to know?” 

The owner of the voice was a big, big man, with a big scruffy black beard full of leaves and crud. He smelled as bad as he looked, and he was far, far too close for Merlin’s comfort. The oaf blinked slowly like he couldn’t believe Merlin said that without a least one cuff to the head. 

“Where’s the prince?” 

Merlin took a moment to consider the situation. He could see the third person in the corner of his eye, but didn’t dare look around. His hands were bound, but not his ankles. His head was _killing_ him, but the headache wasn’t any worse than the one Arthur had already given him. All in all, Merlin thought this was a highly manageable situation as long Arthur didn’t fall out of a tree or something. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Don’t give me that. We heard you call for him.” 

“Yes, I was calling for him because I don’t know where he is. Well, he’s such a contrary little jackass that he’s probably waiting for me back in his room and laughing at what a fool I am. But…” Merlin smiled and shook his head. “Kids, am I right? What can you do?” 

“Don’t you worry,” the raspy voice said. “We’ll find the child you so easily lost. Then we’ll cut his precious little throat.” 

“Ha!” Merlin’s heart sank. “I’d like to see you try!” 

The three bandits lunged for Arthur at once. In a split second, Merlin unbound himself and a wave of his hand froze time. A blade was just an inch from Arthur’s face, and there wasn’t a hint of fear in his features. He stared at instant death with a defiant glint in his eye, and Merlin didn’t let himself think of what could have happened if the bandits found Arthur first. He walked forward and a murmured word had each of them slumped lifelessly on the ground. They would be out for hours. Time enough for the guards to find them. 

He turned his attention back to Arthur, and Merlin felt tight and sick and hot all over. Arthur could be a bit dense, but even an Arthur this young would understand what Merlin had done to save his life. He trusted Arthur to do the right thing by Merlin, but he didn’t want to put Arthur in a bad position with his father. He did not, however, trust the little terror at his feet not to go running directly to Uther. That’s what children did. And there was no reason for Arthur to keep his mouth shut. He clearly hated Merlin. 

He gently touched Arthur’s hair and knew it was worth it. 

Merlin took a step back, out of the reach of any flying fists, and waved his palm. Time resumed its normal pace. Arthur blinked up at Merlin, looked at the unconscious bandits, looked at the abandoned rope on the ground, looked up at Merlin. Blinked again. 

“What did you do?” Arthur asked, voice full of accusation. 

“What I had to do. They were going to slice you into pieces.” 

“Did you kill them?” 

“No. I only knocked them unconscious so the guards could collect them.” 

“Why didn’t you kill them?” 

Merlin swallowed. He couldn’t tell if Arthur was curious or disappointed or angry. It wasn’t right for a child’s voice to sound so flat. So guarded. Merlin supposed that Arthur had to be guarded, had to protect himself even at such a tender age. He hated that. He hated that Arthur already knew how to be cold. 

“Because I’m not a killer.” _Usually_. “Because it they’re alive, they can tell us why they’re here.” _And what they did to you._ But Merlin wasn’t sure if Arthur realized that anything had been done to him, and there wasn’t really time to explain it. There were more pressing concerns. “And because it’s the king’s place to hand down justice.” _Punishment_. 

“Yes it is. And you know the punishment for sorcery.” 

“Yes, I do.” Merlin crouched down so he was eye-level with Arthur. Arthur flinched back, but quickly righted himself. “Do you?” 

“Of course.” 

“Have you been allowed to witness it? Arthur?” 

“No,” he admitted softly. 

“If Uther finds out, he’ll chop off my head with a giant axe. Or he’ll burn me alive, and it’ll hurt, and I’ll probably scream. I know you don’t like me, Arthur, but I don’ t think you want that to happen.” 

Arthur looked stricken at that. “But I do…I mean, everybody must tell the king about sorcery. That is the law.” 

“You’re right. It is the law. You should always do what you feel is right.” Merlin could probably manipulate a child into covering for him, even if that child were Arthur. But he could never twist Arthur into being somebody he wasn’t. “Can I ask you to do me a favor, sire? You probably won’t see Uther again until tomorrow. If you would still like to tell him tomorrow, of course you should.” 

Arthur looked at him curiously. “Even if it will get you burned alive?” 

“I’m not going to ask you to do something you think is wrong, Arthur. I’d never ask that of you.” 

“Why are you like this?” 

“Like what?” 

“Like this. You could make me do your bidding. You’re a sorcerer. Why are you doing this?” 

“I think I just answered that question, Arthur.” 

“How come you act like you know me? I’ve never met you before today.” 

Merlin sighed. He usually adored Arthur when he actually started using his brain, but this time, he wished he would stop. He was almost tempted to conjure up sweet pastries to distract Arthur from his myriad of questions. 

“Somebody has cast a spell that affected your memory.” Technically the truth. “That’s why you don’t remember me.” 

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Was it you?” 

“Why would I want to erase myself from your memory?” 

“I don’t know. Because you’re an evil sorcerer.” 

“I’m not. I’m your servant, Arthur.” Merlin took a deep breath and hoped he wasn’t going to miss his mark. “And I’m your friend.” 

“I won’t tell,” Arthur said softly. 

Merlin knew it was just a short stay of execution, but his heart still soared with relief. He straightened and held out his hand. Arthur stared at him for a beat and then tentatively placed his palm in Merlin’s. Merlin closed his fingers around the small hand, resolved he was not going to let go until Arthur was safely deposited in his room. 

#

Merlin didn’t bother with the coat. He told Arthur he was going to do something special to get them up to his chambers secretly, and then cast a glamour over them. It was a simple spell that redirected attention from them and it worked perfectly. He only stopped long enough to ask Gaius to send the guard out to the forest and request a maid bring up food. Gaius looked quite concerned, but didn’t question Merlin. Merlin was thankful for that. He didn’t have the energy to try to explain. 

By the time they reached Arthur’s chambers, he was strangely subdued. Merlin couldn’t guess what was going on behind his eyes, and he didn’t want to ask. He wandered around the room, fidgeted at the table, looked in the closet, checked under the bed, stared out the window and generally sulked. Merlin tried to clean, but it was difficult since he didn’t dare take his eyes off Arthur. 

At some point late in the afternoon Arthur said, “I’m sorry for running off.” Later, he added, “This isn’t my room.” 

“It is.” 

“Where are all my things?” 

“In…storage.” 

“My clothes are in storage?” 

“Yes…no. It’s hard to explain.” 

“Somebody cast a spell on me to make me six again. It’s not that hard to figure out, Merlin. I’m assuming you must be my manservant normally. How old am I?” 

“Twenty.” 

“Are we…are you really my friend?” 

“I think so.” 

“How long am I going to be like this?” 

“Until tomorrow morning, probably,” Merlin answered, his tongue heavy. 

Arthur turned back to the window, and he looked far, far too pensive. Merlin took a moment to simply absorb the image in front of him, heart lifting and breaking at the same time. He saw an older man in those pinched shoulders and the tilt of his head. He saw a young boy struggling to come to terms with a world and a situation he didn’t fully understand. He saw a willful prince and a future king and a man people would happily die for. Merlin was probably going to die for him, and he couldn’t even bring himself to be sorry about it. 

“Arthur…would you like to see something?” 

“What?” He asked without turning around. 

“A trick.” 

He looked over his shoulder with shrewd eyes. “You mean magic.” 

“Yes.” 

“What sort of trick?” 

“Any sort of trick you’d like to see.” 

“Really? I’ve never seen magic before. Not up close.” 

Merlin waved his fingers and the door’s lock slid into place. Then he sat in front of the cold fireplace and gestured Arthur over. There wasn’t a hint of resistance or defiance in the way Arthur scampered over to join him, and he settled on the floor in front of Merlin like it wasn’t a big deal. The eyes he trained on Merlin were bright and curious. 

“Do I need to do anything?” 

“No, you just need to watch.” A simple gesture, and a fire was burning merrily before them, without any wood to feed the flames, or a hint of heat. Arthur’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything. A muttered spell had the flames reshaping themselves into a horse. Merlin wiggled his fingers, and the horse starting running in place. He snuck a glance at Arthur, who seemed positively enraptured by the small display. The sight of his smile did something to Merlin’s chest, and he felt a little heady, as though making Arthur smile was the greatest accomplishment of his life. 

Hungry for more of that, Merlin murmured more spells, constructing a more elaborate scene. Suddenly, there wasn’t just a horse, there was a whole herd of horses. And then a cavalry, with a Pendragon banner flying high above their heads. Arthur’s smile eventually changed into something more thoughtful, but he remained fascinated. Especially when the cavalry began fighting an enemy made of ashes (it was a good thing Merlin always forgot to sweep the fireplace out). 

By the time Arthur got bored with it, he had the presence of mind to begin making requests. And they were requests. He never demanded anything from Merlin, and even added an occasional _please_. Once, Arthur murmured _thank you_ and Merlin could have been knocked over with a feather. They went on like that for the rest of the afternoon, stopping only when it was time for Merlin to fetch dinner. When he finally waved the magic away, Arthur looked more than a little dazed, and Merlin had never felt so happy, so at peace with the world, in his life. He’d only ever wanted to be accepted for who he was, to be appreciated for what he could do, and living in Camelot, he knew that he could only ever count on Gaius for that. But for a few short hours, he had everything he ever wanted. Arthur accepted him. Arthur was quite obviously pleased with him. Arthur wasn’t being a brat or fighting him. 

If Merlin had to lose his head, he was glad that they had this afternoon together. 

#

By the time Merlin had Arthur fed and changed for bed, they were both utterly exhausted. Gaius had come in while they were eating to inform Merlin that the guards had found the bandits in the forest and they had been taken down to the dungeons. Sooner or later, they would start talking and then Merlin would have no recourse. He would definitely get in trouble for taking Arthur out of the castle. And if the bandits hinted that magic was involved, Uther would immediately convict Merlin of sorcery and trying to kidnap and harm the prince, and for some reason, that bothered Merlin most of all. He didn’t want all of Camelot thinking he would ever do anything to hurt Arthur. 

Shortly after Gaius took his leave, Uther arrived. He was wearing nothing more than his breeches and a shift, and he barely looked imperial at all. He looked like a normal person, and when he pulled Arthur onto his lap, he looked like what Merlin imagined a normal father would look like. Merlin had hovered in the room, finding things to clean, his heart slamming painfully in his chest. He’d never been so terrified, and he knew he was jumping around like a scared rabbit, but Uther barely noticed him, as per usual. His attention was too wrapped up in Arthur. 

Arthur _did_ tell him about the morning he spent with the hounds. Fortunately, Uther didn’t seem to mind too much that Merlin took him down to see the dogs. Perhaps he had expected Arthur to bully his way out of his room. Arthur did not mention the forest, the bandits, or Merlin’s afternoon of magic. When Arthur finished recounting his day, Uther carried him to the bed (that was much too big for such a little boy) and gently tucked him in. He sat on the edge and his voice was rich and low as he told Arthur a story. Merlin almost felt his heart softening towards the king until he caught a few of the details and realized Uther was regaling the small child with the story of how he once decapitated a man. Arthur, for his part, seemed quite happy to hear it. 

After Uther left, Merlin went about his nightly routine as though nothing was different. Just as he snuffed out the last candle, he head a little voice, impossibly small in the dark, say his name. 

“Yes?” 

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“Anything.” 

“Did you know my mother?” 

Merlin blinked. That was the last thing he expected. Especially since Arthur worked out that he had been enchanted and de-aged, which meant he probably understood that Merlin was closer to Arthur’s actual age, and not an adult fifteen years his senior. On the other hand, Arthur might know full well that Merlin didn’t know Ygraine, but had wanted to discuss the topic anyway. 

“No,” Merlin admitted, moving over to the bed. “I never met your mother.” 

“Oh. Some of the servants knew her.” 

“Yes, that’s true.” 

“They never talk about her, though. Neither does Father. I used to ask questions, but I don’t anymore.” 

Merlin sat at the foot of the bed, whispering a spell to light the candle closest to the bed. Golden light fell on Arthur’s hair and sleepy face, and his eyes were half-closed. Merlin wanted to pick him up and hold him close to his chest and promise him everything would be just fine. He didn’t know where _that_ particular impulse came from, but he absolutely was not going to give in to it. 

“Do you wish they would?” Merlin asked. 

“Sometimes. I would like to know about her. Know what she was like. Nobody has even told me what she looked like.” 

“She was beautiful,” Merlin whispered, because how could she be anything except beautiful? The woman who held Uther’s heart, who mothered Arthur, would have to be the most beautiful woman in all of Albion. “And I’m sure that she was kind and good and fair.” 

“I thought you said you didn’t know her.” 

Arthur was going to tease him for being a big girl (if Arthur didn’t have him executed first), but Merlin couldn’t help it. He was feeling warm and content and the day’s earlier trauma seemed very far away. “I didn’t. But I know you.” 

“You said I was a brat.” 

“You are a brat. Maybe the biggest brat I ever met. But you’re still good. I know that if she saw you now, she would be very proud.” 

“Sometimes I think…” 

Merlin waited while Arthur struggled with his confession, searching for the right words. Finally he said softly, “Sometimes I think she’s watching over me.” 

“I’m sure she is,” Merlin whispered. 

“You’re a wizard. Can you see her?” 

“No. But I don’t know all the secrets of the universe quite yet.” 

“But you still think she watches over me?” 

“Yes. You should trust your feelings. And now you should go to sleep.” 

Arthur nodded and obediently closed his eyes. Merlin was _not_ going to kiss his brow, even if his hair was baby-fine across the smooth skin, and even if he looked warm, well, cuddly. Merlin had never in his life had the urge to cuddle with a small child, but he’d never in his life loved anybody like Arthur. But he withstood the temptation, blowing out the candle, and listening in the dark for Arthur’s breathing to even. 

Merlin slid down to the floor, resting his back against the bed and pulling his legs up. He was exhausted and would have liked to stretch out in his own bed, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Arthur. 

He dozed, and his dreams were full of Arthur (the adult version) looking at him with the same awe that had been stamped on his fine features that afternoon. He felt safe and content, pleased to be serving Arthur with his magic, pleased that they could finally work together for their shared destiny. Occasionally, he’d swim from the depths of sleep and look up to check on Arthur’s lax face. He looked almost angelic when he slept, and Merlin realized another day of this and Prince Brat would have him wrapped so tightly around his finger that Merlin wouldn’t know if he was coming or going. He could keep his bearings with Arthur as an adult—he still had some defenses. But he wouldn’t if he had to spend any more time with miniature Arthur. 

“Merlin!” 

Merlin opened his eyes and jumped to his feet, his heart racing and the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Arthur was sitting up in his bed, his cheeks flushed and his breath was coming in hitching gasps. At first, he thought the child was crying, but he realized the moisture on his face wasn’t from tears of fear or sadness. He was fighting for air, gasping and holding his throat, looking absolutely terrified. 

Merlin acted without thinking. Something was stopping Arthur from breathing, therefore, Merlin needed to fix it. He sat on the bed and pulled Arthur into his arms. Arthur didn’t resist him—he was too busy gasping. Merlin put his hand over Arthur’s chest, and his skin seemed so hot through the old shift he wore as nightshirt. He’d never done anything like this. He didn’t even know if he _could_ , but he had to try. There was no question of that. Merlin felt the magic gather in his chest and rush through his veins, like feverish blood, and then spread through his touch. Arthur gasped and then his chest was rising and falling rapidly beneath Merlin’s hand. 

“Are you all right?” Merlin asked, when Arthur no longer sounded like he was drowning. 

Arthur nodded. 

“Did that…does that happen often?” 

Arthur nodded again. 

“I bet that’s scary.” 

“I don’t want to go back to sleep.” 

“Well, you need your sleep. How are you going to torment the whole castle if you’re not rested?” 

“I can’t.” 

“Are you scared it’ll happen again?” 

Arthur nodded and pushed away from Merlin. Merlin let him escape his embrace, but he didn’t go far. He just sat with his back against the headboard, looking tired and frightened but brave. 

“I don’t want to die in my sleep. It’s not befitting a prince.” 

“That’s true. But you’re not going to die. I won’t allow it.” 

Arthur didn’t exactly look comforted by that. “You’re good with magic, but what if you fall asleep, too?” 

“I won’t. I’ll sit right here and stare at you all night.” 

Arthur made a face. “No, I don’t want you staring at me.” 

Merlin smiled. “What would you like me to do?” 

“I…nothing.” Arthur folded his arms and a storm cloud descended on his brow. Merlin tried to brace himself. “It’s not proper for you to be sleeping in my room anyway.” 

“Oh, really? I didn’t know that. I guess I better go downstairs there.” Merlin stood and took a step to the door. 

“Wait.” 

“Yes, sire?” 

“I guess it’s okay if you stay. But I don’t want you to tell anybody that I…” 

“Couldn’t breathe?” Merlin asked. 

“Yes, that.” 

“Why? Doesn’t your father already know?” 

“He says it’s a weakness I must overcome. Sometimes if I…sometimes he gets cross when it happens.” 

Merlin bit his tongue, all goodwill he might have been harboring for Uther gone with that revelation. “It’s not a weakness, Arthur. You’re just sick. Sometimes that happens. And you _will_ get better.” 

Arthur’s face lit up. “Really? You’re sure?” 

“Quite sure.” Unless Arthur was great at hiding his treacherous lungs, but Merlin had spend so much time with him, he was certain he would have noticed _something_ by now. “So, can I stay?” 

Arthur slid over, making room for Merlin on the bed. Merlin sat with one leg flat on the floor and the other bent under him. Arthur did an excellent job of pretending he wasn’t there, straightening the blankets around him and then curling up with his back to Merlin. After several minutes, Arthur rolled over to face him. His eyes were still wide, and Merlin thought he could sense the fear just under his skin. 

Merlin silently held his arm out, catching Arthur’s gaze so he would understand the invitation. Arthur seemed to be debating the issue, and Merlin could almost hear the argument going on behind his eyes. Arthur did want a little bit of comfort, but he didn’t want to admit to be afraid or, god forbid, weak. Merlin silently encouraged him to forget about how strong he was supposed to be and just do what he wanted to do. _Trust me, Arthur. Please._

Arthur finally decided he did trust Merlin. His arm went around Merlin’s waist and he rested his cheek on Merlin’s chest. After a beat, he closed his eyes. No more than a minute later, Arthur was asleep once again. Merlin sighed and wondered if the pain in his chest was his heart breaking or something else altogether.   



	3. Chapter 3

The body he woke up next to was much larger than the one he fell asleep holding. He cracked an eye open, hoping with all his heart that Arthur would still be sleeping. Arthur, however, was the most contrary person on the planet and so of course he wasn’t sleeping when Merlin really, really needed him to be. 

“Oh. Um, you’re normal again.” 

“I am,” Arthur agreed. 

Merlin’s leg was still curled under him, and the entire limb was completely numb. His neck hurt from the awkward angle he held it against the headboard, and his arm was still around Arthur’s shoulders. His stomach felt hollow, and as he was staring at Arthur trying to figure out what to say, it growled loud enough to make Arthur arch his brow. 

“I’ve overslept,” Merlin said stupidly. He pulled away from Arthur and went to stand without thinking. His numb leg immediately buckled under his weight, and he collapsed to the ground in a heap of gangly limbs, with a small cry of surprise. 

“I can’t believe they entrusted _you_ with my care. Father must have been enscolled, too.” 

Merlin grimaced. “Are you going to help me here? This is your fault.” 

“How is it my fault that you can’t stand on your own two feet?” 

“Because you’re the reason I was sleeping like that and the reason my leg fell asleep.” 

Arthur rolled off the bed to stand in front of him, and oh, the shift that had been far too big for his six-year-old body was far too small for his adult body. It barely reached his thighs, and Merlin felt his cheeks color as his gaze darted to the far wall. Arthur reached down, grabbed him by his arm, and hauled him to his feet. Merlin almost immediately fell again, but Arthur kept him standing, supporting his weight. 

“Do you remember everything?” Merlin asked, still not quite able to look at Arthur. 

“Yes.” 

“Oh. Well, that’s probably good. It means there’s probably no permanent damage.” Merlin didn’t even know how he was still talking. Being that close to Arthur always made things go a little haywire, and now he was terrified for his life. What shade of purple would Uther go if Arthur explained how Merlin had happily entertained his small son with magic for hours and hours?

“Can you stand on your own yet?” 

Merlin tested his weight. The feeling was returning to his flesh, and that sense of being stabbed with pins and needles spread from his ankle to his hip. He’d probably have a limp for most of the morning, but he didn’t think he’d do a face plant. He offered a shaky nod, and Arthur released his arm and stepped back. 

“You’re free to go. I won’t need you for the rest of the day.” 

Merlin felt like he should say _something_. There were a million things pressing on his mind. Some big and some small. He just needed to choose one and form the words. It wasn’t so difficult. He was quite good at talking. Arthur and Gaius both complained he did enough of it. He might not get another chance to speak to Arthur privately before the guards came for him. Not that he was completely convinced Arthur would tell Uther, but he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t, and Merlin just wanted things to be normal. 

“Merlin?” 

“Yes?” 

“Is there a reason you’re staring at me like that?” 

“No.” Merlin tried to smile and he tried to scurry away, but due to his fear and his sore leg, he kind of grimaced and then kind of shuffled away. By the time he reached the door, he was absorbed in all the reasons Arthur probably hated him now. Arthur had a lot of pride, and most of what happened the day before would be enough to injure anybody’s pride. All of which Merlin witnessed, and some of which Merlin had been an eager participant of. 

He limped down to Gaius’ door and let himself in quietly. Gaius was still sleeping. Merlin dragged his leg across to his room, resolving to remain in bed until dinner or until the guards arrived. Whichever came first. 

#

Arthur stared at the cold fireplace. It had seemed much, much larger the night before. Like Arthur could have crawled right inside of it with room to spare. He probably could have. The thought certainly crossed his mind, along with the image of Merlin crawling in after him and getting all dusty. It had comforted him, imagining Merlin cramped into a tiny space, there simply because Arthur wanted him to be there. He hadn’t done it, but only because he’d been so distracted, so delighted, by the magic. Horses and brave knights and epic battles unfolding at a wave of Merlin’s hand, or a word from Arthur’s lips. 

That’s the way it could _really_ be. Arthur knew that deep in his gut. Arthur’s mind for strategy, Merlin’s magical powers—what would ever stop them? 

Arthur turned away from the fireplace with a shiver. Uther would be worried about him. He would need to visit his father as quickly as possible and assure him that the enchantment had been broken. And then…

And then…

And then. Arthur didn’t know what would happen next. There were two options. He told Uther what Merlin showed him (with so much trust that it staggered him) and Merlin died. Or he didn’t tell Uther what Merlin showed him and Merlin lived. 

It _seemed_ easy enough. Arthur had felt strongly the day before that Merlin was _his_. His servant. His friend. His responsibility. He’d been willing to do anything to protect Merlin, and that impulse was still there, still strong. But butting up against it was a lifetime of lessons. Magic was evil. Even if Uther hadn’t insisted on that at every opportunity, Arthur had witnessed countless instances of it over the past year. Sorcerers and witches who had no other thought that revenge. Men and women who would risk the wellbeing of the entire kingdom out of pure selfishness and hate. 

Arthur knew there was a lot of evil in the world, and not all of it was the result of magic. Not even most of it. The bandits who killed travelers for a few pieces of gold. The raiders who attacked villages and stole food and supplies—after they were finished torturing the children and raping the women. There were kings who ignored their subjects, except when it was time to collect taxes. The rest of the time, they left their people to rot away, weakening the foundation of their entire kingdom. There were courtiers in Camelot who treated their dogs a hundred times better than they ever treated their servants. Every day somebody died in cold blood, somebody lost their child to hunger, somebody lost a parent to ruthless murderers. Arthur knew this. Arthur could never forget it. Every time he went on patrol, he witnessed something that turned his blood cold and made his stomach churn. 

Then he would think of how much worse it could be if magic was still rampant in the kingdom. Everybody said that Camelot had flourished under Uther’s reign, and that was a direct result of driving magic from the kingdom. Arthur couldn’t argue with results. Maybe raiders still descended on villages after harvest but before the first snow, but at least they didn’t have the capability of killing _everybody_ with a wave of their hand. Arthur had no trouble believing that some sorcerers weren’t evil—Merlin was not evil. Nothing would ever change Arthur’s opinion on that. But magic was a powerful weapon, and Arthur couldn’t say he wanted to return to a time when just about everybody had access to it. 

At the same time, Arthur wasn’t in complete lockstep with Uther’s unmitigated hatred for all things related to sorcery. People who did business with sorcerers shouldn’t be executed. People who offered food, people who were kind and charitable, people who just happened to talk to an accused sorcerer on the street shouldn’t be executed. Gwen’s father shouldn’t have been executed. There _was_ a line, and Uther was on the wrong side of it. But that line, which glowed so brightly when talking about subjects without magic, started to fade and blur as Arthur introduced more variables. 

Arthur’s head began to throb, and he dropped in the nearest chair. It didn’t matter what line Arthur drew or where he drew it. Uther had already drawn the line, and it wasn’t Arthur’s job to question it. It was Arthur’s job to enforce the law in the name of the king. The laws in Camelot were clear. Uther did not have room in his life for ambiguity. By keeping Merlin’s secret, he would be committing treason. He would be betraying his subjects, his king, his father. If he started now, where would it end? How many laws would he feel comfortable breaking? How could he, of all people, hold himself above the law? If he wished to be a good king, he would never forget that the laws of the land applied to all equally. 

Why did Merlin have to be this way? Why did he have to be a warlock? Did Gaius know or was Merlin lying to all of them equally? He was such an idiot. Arthur understood that Merlin had done magic for Arthur’s benefit—it wasn’t hard to figure out that every time Merlin saved his life he’d been using magic. But personally benefiting from something illegal didn’t make it right. It just made it easier to justify making the wrong choice. 

But Merlin…

Merlin was Merlin. Merlin hadn’t just saved him from the assassins in the forest. Merlin had tried to comfort a little boy who missed his mother. Merlin had eased the bands around his chest, offering him a moment of relief that Arthur had never once experienced as a child. Merlin had held him, and Arthur had felt secure enough to fall asleep cradled against his chest. His cheeks colored with embarrassment at the last. He had really needed Merlin and he couldn’t stand to think of what that said about him, the Crown Prince of Camelot. He shouldn’t need anybody like he had needed Merlin, and the fact that there were extenuating circumstances didn’t exactly make Arthur feel better about the situation. 

Why did Merlin have to put him in this position? Why couldn’t Merlin just be his goofy manservant with a penchant for trouble and a heart too big for his own good? Arthur didn’t want to choose between Merlin and his father, between his mercy and his principles. He wanted to do the right thing and he didn’t know what that was, and he didn’t know how he was going to decide. All because _Merlin_ couldn’t follow the laws of Camelot. Just who did he think he was? 

Before he did anything else, Arthur intended to find out. 

#

“So? What are you waiting for?” Seaver hissed. “Get us the fuck out of here.” 

Sutton rattled his chains. “How do you propose I do that? Nobody ever escapes from the dungeons in Camelot.” 

“You’re a…” Seaver looked around and lowered his voice. “Sorcerer, aren’t you? Use magic to open the chains, or turn into a bird, or _something_. They’re going to start questioning us soon.” 

“I can’t.” 

“What? What do you mean you _can’t_. This place isn’t magic proof. Just get us the fuck out of here before Uther has a drawn and quarter.” 

“Are you deaf?” Sutton wished he could reach across the cell and bash the other man over the head. It would probably do him some good. “I _can’t_. I don’t have that…ability.” 

“Then what ability do you have? Are you good for anything? Besides getting us killed, that is.” 

Sutton sighed. He wished he had a better answer to that question. His father, Ramm, had been a very powerful sorcerer. He’d lived on the border between Camelot and Mercia and mostly kept to himself, though everybody knew of how terrible his magic could be. Uther’s knights had cut him down in cold blood when Sutton was only six. Right in front of him. The pain that had exploded in his chest only grew from that moment, until it consumed everything else inside of him, and he could thinking of nothing else but alleviating it. Uther’s blood would work. His tears would work even better. That’s when he began to think of ways to destroy the royal family the way his own small family had been destroyed. 

Unfortunately, he didn’t have any natural ability as a sorcerer. At all. There was no hint that his own father had used powerful elemental magic. He’d inherited _nothing_ from his father, and there wasn’t even proof that the other man had existed, except for the memories Sutton guarded jealously. He couldn’t really read, either. And most people didn’t like spending time with him—Seaver being the obvious exception. As a result, he only knew three spells. Two of which he learned by necessity. One of which he hadn’t learned at all—he just sort of always knew it. He’d tried to do other things, but regardless of how he practiced or where he started, the culmination of any spell turned the subject into a six-year-old child. Ultimately, Sutton just wasn’t a very good sorcerer. 

“I can start fires. I can put out fires. And I can revert people to children. That’s it.” 

“So start a fire and get us out.” 

“How will that help? The guards won’t unlock us, they’d just let us burn. And I can’t make a fire hot enough to melt these chains. Just shut up for a minute. Let me think.” 

“I’m not sure you should be the brains of this operation anymore.” 

“Since you have none, we really don’t have a choice. Now shut up.” 

There was only one witness who could identify them and link them to sorcery. Merlin. The prince’s manservant. He saw them in the forest and heard enough to draw the obvious conclusion. Were there chances of surviving better if they had a trial with no witnesses? Arthur had been there, too, but the spell could have affected his memory. Plus, children weren’t always so great with faces and small details. He had no doubt that by the end of the night, they would be examined and questioned and tortured and put on trial. 

“I need something of the manservant’s.” 

“What? Why?” 

“So I can make sure he won’t be testifying against us.” 

“I think I have some of his blood under my nails.” 

“Good enough. Here…” Sutton swept a small portion of the floor clean. “Scrape it off there. Then stand guard. Make sure nobody sees this.” 

Seaver did as he was told. Sutton began to chant.

 

#

Merlin opened his eyes and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. He slowly turned his head to the right and to the left, but everything was strange. There were no hints of his mother, no hints of Will, and nothing to indicate just where he was. Merlin tried to be a brave little boy like his mother told him he was, but fear was already clawing at his throat. Where was he? Had he been taken from his mother? Was she hurt? 

“Mum?”

His voice was small and weak. He swallowed and tried again, but without very much success. Merlin kicked the thin blanket off his legs, the fear sharpening inside of him. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep in front of the hearth, knees tucked to his chest, head pillowed on his jacket. He’d been cozy and full from the rabbit stew (Will’s older brother had managed to trap an extra rabbit and made a gift of it). It had been cold outside, he remembered the sound of the wind howling around the hut. The snow would be flying soon. His mother would need him to help prepare for the winter. She was probably worried about him. Merlin closed his eyes and he could so easily see her face creased with concern as she called his name, searching in and out of the hut for her lost son. He saw it so vividly that tears stung his eyes. He hated to think of her in distress. He hated it even more when he was the cause for that distress. 

Well, he would just have to get away from whoever had him and go find her. Or maybe they had her, too? Merlin’s blood ran cold at the thought but he _was_ a brave boy, and he was more special than other boys. With that decided, he slid off the bed and approached the door. He pulled on the handle, and much to his surprise, the door gave easily. Merlin was also a cautious boy, so he tucked his small body behind the door and peeked around the edge. 

The room seemed impossibly huge. Much bigger than his mother’s hut. And it was bursting with all kinds of wonderful things. There was a whole tank full of leeches, and jars full of flowers and dried fogs and other things Merlin wanted to touch. There were stacks of papers on the tables, as well as bottles full of strange looking potions with smoke and fire. There was a whole second level, like a loft in a barn, and Merlin couldn’t even conceive of having so much space. He sensed there was an entire universe of treasures in that room, and his fingers itched to find them. Looking was nice, especially if there were bright colors involved, but he especially loved to touch things. 

On old man stood hunched over the table. His hair was white as snow and his shoulders were stooped. Merlin had never seen anybody so old in his life, and he felt a strange twinge of disquiet in his stomach. Surely nobody could be as old as that man appeared to be? He was muttering to himself and studying a bottle of green liquid. Was he a sorcerer? Did he make little boys drink down nasty potions? Was he the one responsible for taking Merlin from his mother? It didn’t seem like he could be. Hunith wouldn’t let an old man steal him away, and he was quite certain his mother was strong enough to fight off creepy old sorcerers. 

The door on the other side of the room opened and a new man entered. Merlin caught his breath at the sight of him. He was much younger and much bigger than the other man. He wore chainmail and had a sword at his side. Merlin was completely certain that _this_ was the person who stole him away from the comfort and security of his mum’s hut. He looked angry. Everything inside of Merlin quaked at the sight of him. He had never seen anybody like him—never seen anybody so strong or so frightening or so upset. Merlin really, really hoped that anger had nothing to do with _him_. 

A hope that was dashed as soon as the man said between clenched teeth, “I need to see Merlin.” 

“Of course, sire.” 

_Sire_? Who was this person advancing toward the door? With only a split second to decide, Merlin did the most logical thing he could. He darted away from the door and dove under the bed, curling into a tight ball against the wall. 

#

Arthur slammed the door open, expecting to find Merlin lazing about on his bed—partially because he knew Merlin, and partially because Gaius told him that was what he was doing. But the bed was empty, and a quick scan around the room didn’t reveal any sign of his wayward manservant. 

“Gaius!” 

“Sire?” 

“He’s not in here.” 

“What?” Gaius stepped into the room behind him. “I assure you, sire, he was in here just a few moments ago.” 

“Well, he’s not in here now.” 

“I’ll go search for him. He could be quite sneaky when he has a mind to it.” 

“As soon as you find him, tell him I need to speak to him immediately. I’ll be in the…” Arthur put a hand up. “Did you hear that?” 

“Hear what, sire?” 

“That…that little sound. Like somebody’s…” Arthur’s face twisted, and if he were in anybody’s else’s bedchambers, he would never utter the next word. “Crying.” 

“Crying?” Gaius tilted his head. They both waited a beat and then heard the tiniest little whimper. 

“There. Did you catch that?” 

“It sounds like it’s coming from under the bed.” 

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. He was standing in Merlin’s room and somebody was under Merlin’s bed crying not-quite-silently. It was probably too much to hope that he wouldn’t find Merlin under the bed. Though how the lanky man fit beneath the mattress, Arthur couldn’t begin to guess. He’d expect at least a foot or hand or one of his ridiculous ears to be sticking out. 

Gaius moved to check, but Arthur put a silent hand out to stop him. He crouched down and peered beneath the narrow mattress, ready to snarl Merlin’s name. But the sound stopped as he realized that the crying, quivering thing against the wall was scared…of _him_. 

“Merlin?” 

“Don’t hurt me. Please.” 

“Hurt you? Merlin, I’m not going to hurt you. Just…” 

Gaius crouched down on the other side, and Arthur caught a glimpse of his shocked face. “Merlin? Is that you?” 

A long pause. “Yes.” 

Gaius and Arthur exchanged a look under the bed. 

“Merlin,” Gaius said, pitching his voice to low and soothing, as though talking to a skittish colt. “Why are you hiding under the bed? Are you scared?” 

“Yes.” 

“There’s no need to be frightened, my boy. Nobody here will hurt you.” 

“You took me from my mother.” 

“No, of course we didn’t,” Gaius said. “I know Hunith quite well. She sent you to stay here in Camelot with me. You’re to be my new apprentice.” 

“I don’t remember that.” 

“Well, you’ve had a long journey. Perhaps you’ll regain your memory tomorrow. Isn’t that right, sire?” 

“Oh.” Arthur said. “Right. Of course. Why don’t you come out now, Merlin?” 

Merlin lifted his head and Arthur caught a glimpse of a tear-streaked face and impossibly huge blue eyes. Even in the dim light, Arthur could see the fear in those eyes. It was like a punch to the gut. Why would Merlin be afraid of him? He hadn’t done anything. 

“I don’t want to.” 

“Sire.” Gaius gestured for him to stand. “Perhaps it would be best if you leave this to me. I’ll send him to you as soon as I can.” The older man’s face softened. “He’ll back to normal by this time tomorrow, Arthur. I’ll just make sure he stays with me and doesn’t attract any attention.” 

Arthur nodded. That was for the best. The conversation he wanted to have with Merlin clearly wasn’t possible right now. They’d waited so long that another day wouldn’t make a difference. And maybe by then, Arthur would know what he wanted to say.


End file.
